Harry and Ruth in the Big Apple
by Rosettaston3
Summary: Harry and Ruth visit the Big Apple for the holidays. Fasten your ice skates;you're in for a slippery, fun ride. Pure fluff, what else?
1. Chapter 1

**Harry and Ruth in the Big Apple. Disclaimer: Neither Harry, Ruth nor and any of the characters in Spooks are mine.**_ (But I DO claim the Big Apple..along with millions of others.)_

_-1-_

"And you are to leave within 24 hours as well. " The big man stops and stares at the Section head of MI-5, Harry Pearce. "Is there a problem, Sir Harry?"

"Problem? Of course not, Home Secretary. I cannot wait to cross the pond and spend my time off during the holiday season to be with our cousins."

The HS narrows his large round eyes, but says only. "Black tie. Of course."

"Naturally," Harry says blandly. "I shall look forward to that as well."

Ignoring the last, the Home Secretary opens his desk drawer. Reaching inside, he grabs something and places it down on his desk. "Your ticket."

"Thank you. " Harry says, picking it up as if it were contaminated.

Seconds later, something else slaps down on the desk . An identical one stares up at Harry. "For a guest," the HS says at Harry's look of puzzlement. The extra ticket sits there, unclaimed.

"Cat got your tongue, Sir Harry?"

He finally picks up the second ticket. "A guest?"

"Yes." The HS says. "At your country's expense, too." As he leans back in his chair, it creaks a bit. "It _is_ Christmas, after all, you know."

Harry looks up at the Home Secretary wondering just when did the Ghost of Christmas Past visit the other man. There appears to be no other explanation. Rational or otherwise. None at all. "Why don't you take—what's her name –Evershed?" The HS says, cutting into Harry's musings. When Harry looks at his superiour, he swears he can detect a gleam, a Ghost of a Smile, as it were, in the big man's eyes.

"Who?" Harry says, still trying to shake the disconcerting image of the Home Secretary in long red robe and white beard.

"Don't give me that, Sir Harry. You know as well as I do...who. "

Harry picks up the second ticket as if it were the most precious thing on earth. He places inside his coat pocket. Then looks at the HS. "Thank you," he says and means it.

"Well." The Home Secretary says, standing up, his chair creaking again. "What are you waiting for? Start packing."

Harry nods, then standing up as well, says, "Home Secretary." As he turns to leave, the HS adds, "And do bear in mind that you and your guest will be representing Her Majesty's s Secret Service and of course, your country."

"Naturally, Home Secretary."

As soon as he's out in the hall, Harry flips open his mobile and begins to ring Ruth Evershed, his desk analyst, colleague, and well, he's not exactly sure what else she is despite the HS's staunch belief that they are in fact, are couple. Harry's not sure that she is sure where they stand, either. He snaps his mobile shut before the call goes through and heads back to the Grid. And her. But when he arrives, he sees she's not at her desk. Taking a quick look around, he knows she is not on the Grid. She could be in the Ladies of course, but his RuthRadar unerringly points him to his target and without further delay, he heads there.

She is there, of course. On the roof, looking out at the London skyline. The noonday sun is directly above her, kissing her soft brown hair and warming his heart, but little else on this cold, cold day two weeks before Christmas. The elevation and wind does little to improve the temperature, either. But there she stands, back to him, sans coat, and seemingly oblivious to the weather. And Him. But then he hadn't counted on her HarryRadar. She turns suddenly around. "Hi."

"Ruth," he says, hurrying to her, unbuttoning his coat. ""You'll catch your death of cold up here."

"No." She says, staying him with one hand. "It's bracing." And she breathes in the cold air for good measure.

"Bracing? Are you mad?" He shivers involuntarily.

"Thanks, Harry." She says, piercing blue eyes fixing on him. If anything, the cold makes them look even bluer.

"Sorry. I don't mean mad. Not exactly I..."

"Actually, I feel warm." She says.

His eyes open despite the wind. "Ruth. You're much too young for hot flashes. So..."

A deathglare locks onto him and he very nearly steps back from its beam. "Do the words, faux and pas mean anything to you, Harry?"

He swallows visibly before responding. "If they hadn't, they do. Now." He drops his hand from the last button of his overcoat. "How about I make up for it and take you to a ball? At a really, so I'm told, fancy hotel?"

Her eyes narrow. "Why?"

He swallows a bit. "It's Christmas, Ruth. Or will be soon._ Say yes, Ruth. Please._

"When?"

Can we discuss this downstairs? Please?"_ Christ_. I_'m bloody freezing my bollo-_

She touches his arm, taking a good look at him hunched against the cold, coat mostly open and waiting for her. The tips of his ears are red.

She nods and begins to walk towards the door.

He exhales at the blessed warmth as the door closes behind him.

"Ok. Harry. She says standing in front of the lift seconds later. "What is this all about?"

"You like apples, Ruth?'

"Sorry?"

"Big Apples? Really Big Apples?"


	2. Chapter 2

Harry and Ruth In the Big Apple (My hometown! Well...actually, the Bronx...) :)

-2-

"Apples?" Did you say apples? And Really Big Ones?" Bemused, she looks at him.

For a moment, he stands there nonplussed, but only for a moment. _Bloody hell_. A flush begins to appear on his neck and creeps upwards settling on his cheeks. "I don't mean apple_s_," he says, making a concerted effort to keep his gaze fixed on her face rather than the upper half of her body. "I meant to say. What I meant-"

"Harry," she says, a smile on her face, "If you mean The Across The Pond Gala For MI-5 and the CIA in NYC, then yes. _That_ kind of apple I like. The Big Apple."

He opens and shuts his mouth, replacing his original chagrin for yet another. "How did-?"

"I am after all," she says, "your desk analyst and intelligence officer."

"But no one knew of this and –"

Her only response is what he refers to as her RuthLook. His response to that is an obvious look of pride. "Is there anything, Miss Evershed, which you don't know about? Or more to the point, anything else which you know, and I in fact, do not?"

She smiles a most inscrutable smile. "Well. Yes. Actually, there is. I've been wondering when you would ask me. To the gala." Then she smiles and there is nothing unfathomable about it. At all.

He smiles, the years disappearing from his face. "So that's a yes?"

"Yes."

The lift chimes.

Moments later when they enter the Grid, both wearing their work faces, Harry heads to his glass cubicle of an office, Ruth to her work station in the outer office. She smiles at her colleagues, Tariq, Beth and Dimitri. They nod back, congenially, But as soon as she dons her headset and peers at her computer monitor, Beth at Tariq's side, gently nudges him with her elbow. Looking up, he nods at her then flicks his eyes over to Dimitri who with a hint of a smile waggles his eyebrows in the direction of Harry's office. Twice. Beth bites her lip and appears fascinated at the algorithms that Tariq is producing on his monitor.

Ruth, adjusting her headset, leans into her computer, seemingly oblivious to her colleagues.

Only a few minutes later, Harry steps out of his office. "Ruth?" All heads turn. "My office, please."

"Of course," she says. And getting up, follows him back into his office, the Grid gone unnaturally quiet. As she enters his office, Harry slides the door shut.

"Harry." She tells him, sighing, "I really wish you wouldn't."

"What?"

She gestures to the door now effectively sealing them from the outer office and her colleagues.

"Why not?"

"Well, unless this is classified, it will only add more grist for the mill." She jerks her head at the others through the window who suddenly appear industrious. Admirably so, in fact.

"I hadn't noticed." He says.

She sighs again. "For such an observant man, that fact never fails to amaze me." She waits for him to say something.

He shrugs. "I just wanted to let you know if you need some time, take it. You know. To get ready. For the trip."

"That's very generous of you. But I will take care of everything I need. "

"Well," he adds carefully." It is a gala. Black tie. Formal And I—

"I will be sure, Sir Harry," she says emphasizing his title, "not to embarrass you. Or the Crown."

For the second time that day he opens and shuts his mouth.

She touches his arm. "Don't worry. If I need to, I can shop over there. I hear our former colony actually has places to shop." That earns a wry smile from him. "Besides," she adds, "we do have some time, you know, before the actual gala, that is." She nods, then reaching for the door handle, stops before sliding it open. Glancing out the glass towards the outer office, she says, "Seriously, Harry. They really do see a lot more than they let on. After all," she adds, finally sliding the door open and now speaking as loudly as she can, "they _are_ spies."

She goes back to her work station and smiles sweetly at her colleagues.

* * *

Ruth hates shopping with a vengeance. Except for an occasional dress for a specific occasion, most of her clothes are practical: long skirts, tops, a few fitted jackets, perhaps boots to go with her outfits. But after her brief conversation with Harry, she decides to take him up on his offer. When she begins to pack up earlier than usual from the Grid, it does not go unnoticed by anyone, least of all Harry. He smiles as she leaves, thinking of her choosing an outfit for the gala. And of the time they will spend in NYC. With him. Together. But that's before he notices his officers looking at him with affection.

Clearing his throat, he says, "Why is everyone standing around?" And quickly adds, "That is not a rhetorical question." He heads back to his office, but not before taking note that his words have the desired effect. He smiles with satisfaction as his people once again scurry about, attending to their myriad tasks.

* * *

The morning of the trip seems like a regular working day. As usual, all are once again at the Grid and their respective stations. But for the Section Head, the day is interminable. Finally at precisely 13:00 hours, he goes over to Ruth still working at her desk. He points to his watch.

"We don't have to be at Heathrow for another 45 minutes," she says, adjusting her headset and not looking up at him. "And then we have three hours after that."

He leans in even closer, just inches from her face. "Traffic." He says.

"But…"

He motions for her to remove the headset. When she pulls it just a bit from her ear, he says, sotto voce. "Haven't changed your mind, have you?" He hopes his smile belies his anxiety.

"Of course not." she says and smiles back. But," and she readjusts her headset once more, "Just let me finish this. I-"

"Tick Tock, Ruth. Tick Tock."

"All right," she says, sighing. And finally removing her headset, shuts off her computer as well. "But we'll be early."

"But on the other hand, we won't be late, either."

She smiles at that and gets ready to leave.

* * *

Heathrow is busier than ever. Although just less than a fortnight from Christmas, the airport buzzes with activity. Children pull at their parents' hands, frazzled parents pull back and harried travelers push and pull their luggage about the airport. Ruth almost trips over one. Harry grabs and steadies her, glaring at the offending owner of the wheeled contraption. "Sorry," he says, and whizzes by.

"I should think so," Harry says, after him. Ruth only shakes her head. "I'm fine. Don't worr—"

Another young man bumps into Harry with his backpack. This time, however, there is no apology. Harry exhales noisily. "So help me. If one more person..."

She places a hand over his arm. "It's fine, Harry," she says gently. "Let's just head for the gate, shall we?"

He looks at her then and nods, all tension melting away. Together, they make their way to the boarding area.

* * *

"Ruth." He says as quietly as he can. "Wake up." He shakes her as gently as he speaks. She opens one eye and turns in her seat a bit towards him, seated right next to her.

"Where are we?" She asks.

"JFK. Well, circling that is. For the last 45 minutes. But they say," and he looks towards the cockpit and the flight attendant just ahead, "we should be landing in 5 minutes. I think they actually mean it. This time." He shakes his head.

She covers her yawn, but one gets away from her. "Sorry," she says. I must have fallen asleep."

"You did." He says. "For several hours." He smiles at the memory, then stifles a yawn as well. "I wish I had, actually."

She nods blearily at him, then notices for the first time that his overcoat is draped over her, despite the blanket already across her lap. She smiles at him gratefully. "What time is it?" She asks, adjusting the coat a bit.

"Best not to ask," he says, helping her adjust the coat as well. "Jet lag's bad enough." She nods at him and yawns again. Leaning back in his seat, he yawns, too. The plane turns around again and makes it final approach to JFK.


	3. Chapter 3

TOUCHDOWN! JFK, that is! :) _And thanks so much for your interest in this bit of fluff! Hope you enjoy! Consider it my thank you for your lovely feedback. And if I'm totally honest, I look forward to some fluff as well! :)_

-3-

The flight attendant and the pilot were telling the truth. In five minutes or so, the plane finally lands at JFK. Of course, it takes another 15 minutes or so for the passengers to actually disembark.

"Would you mind, dear?" Harry, standing in the aisle, turns to the voice. A much older woman is standing in her seat behind him, gesturing to the overhead compartment. "My pleasure," Harry says, reaching up to help her. But the man standing next to him reaches past, grabbing his own overstuffed bag first. Wrenching it free from the other luggage in the bin, he soon loses his grip. It tumbles and hits Harry right in the head. He sways a bit from the blow.

"Oh no!" The woman says, her eyes round with shock.

"Harry!" Ruth exclaims, still standing in front of her window seat. She tries to reach Harry, but is unable to do more than that in such cramped quarters. She settles for glaring at the man who barely glances at Harry still rubbing his head. "What kind of person are you?" The older woman asks the man who's now hefting his luggage past them and down the aisle. The man turns back, staring at Harry who waits for an answer. It's not long coming. The man apologises profoundly, NY style: he raises his middle finger. Then turning back, he heads down the aisle.

Ruth almost manages to get past Harry, but he blocks her with his stocky body. "It's fine. Really." Taking note of the lasers shooting out of her ice-blue eyes now targeting the back of the man's head, Harry almost feels sorry for the poor devil.

"It's my fault," the woman says, her hand on her chest.

"Of course it isn't." Harry says, turning back to her. He smiles and desperately tries not to rub his head. "I'm perfectly fine." He knocks his head and immediately regrets doing so. Still, he smiles, his very best HarrySmile. "Hard head," he says. " At least according to my mother."

"Well, you tell your mother that she's raised a lovely son." Then she adds, "You must think all Americans are so rude. And I had such a lovely time in your country, too."

"Not at all." Harry says, smiling down at her. "And I'm glad you enjoyed your stay." Finally, he retrieves her luggage for her, placing in on the floor. She beams at him. Then she looks over to Ruth who's still putting a curse on the man now long gone.

"What a lovely husband you have, dear. He's a keeper!"

Ruth turns her attention to the older woman. She glances over at Harry, then casts her eyes down, but not before he sees the sparkle in them and a hint of her dimples. He forgets about his head, at least for the moment.

Finally, the plane thins out and Ruth and Harry, saying goodbye to their elderly companion, head for the baggage area, looking for their ride. After 15 minutes, however, it's clear that somehow, someone messed up. There is no one holding a hastily scrawled sign in the terminal bearing the name 'Mr. & Mrs. Cousins.'

Sighing, Harry flips his mobile open, but Ruth stops him with a wave of her hand. "You know, we can take the AirTrain. After all, when in in Rome..."

She stops at the look on his face, "A train?" He shakes his head then regrets doing so. He really must remember to stop doing that, he tells himself. "I'm sure our ride will soon be here," he goes on, trying his best not to wince. "We just need to be patient."

"This is NY, Harry. There's no such thing as patient."

He snaps his mobile shut. "Fine. But let's wait just 5 more minutes, shall we? And then we can take a cab." He looks over at her. She nods. But after another 5 minutes or so, it is clear that they will have to find their own way into the city. They head outside of the terminal and step into the night. And the sleet. And the noise. And the smell. "Thought _we_ had cold weather, " he says, turning his collar up. He looks past the crowd for a cab. Spotting one almost immediately, he raises his hand and just as quickly, it pulls up to the curb. Harry, rolling their luggage along, gestures for Ruth to get in. As she reaches for the door handle, a man brushes past her, almost knocking her down. Then he gets in, slams the door and the cabbie takes off.

"Good God, " Harry says, going over to her. "You all right, Ruth?"

"Of course," she says, adjusting her coat a bit. Then her mouth drops open as Harry steps a bit more into the street and also profoundly apologises, NY style, to the departing cab and passenger.

"Harry!" Reaching over, she yanks his arm down.

He shrugs. " When in Rome ..."

Her smile is slow in coming but when it does, it lights up her entire face. She nods. Then stepping out from the curb a bit, she flags the next cabbie. Like the previous one, it pulls up alongside the curb. Another person appears out of nowhere. Before Harry can react, she pushes in front of the young man. "Don't even think about it, buddy," she says. The young man takes a look at her and hesitates. And when he does, she all but shoves Harry into the back, luggage and all, getting in behind him. The door slams. "The Plaza," she says. "And step on it." The cabbie checks her out in his rear view mirror. "You got it." He says and steps on the gas.

Harry stares at his companion. She turns to him, then says softly, "When in..."

"Rome.." he finishes. Their eyes meet. And there is no way that the sparking lights of the city can compete with the smiles on their faces.


	4. Chapter 4

"New York, New York. It's a wonderful town. The Bronx is up and the Battery's down..."

-4-

The cab pulls up to the Plaza on 5th and Central Park South. And almost but not quite, competes with their smiles.

All glass and lit up, the hotel's entrance beckons to them like a beacon in the night. Red carpet over the marble steps lead up to the centre entrance flanked by two more just like it, except their gleaming steps are bare. Above the main entrance is a stained glass panel displaying a large P in the center surrounded by vines of green and red holly, perfectly matching the holiday season.

"Who's paying for this again?" Ruth whispers, staring at the hotel from the cab's window.

"The kids." He whispers in her ear, then adds just before he gets out. "You know, showing off, like kids often do when their parent comes into town."

"Harry." She says, shaking her head. But she's smiling,

Two doormen hustle to their cab; one takes their luggage and garment bags while the other helps them out of the vehicle.

Harry reaches into his pocket and presses some money into one of the doorman's hand. "Too bad," he whispers again, "that gratuities are not really that." She looks at him quizzically.

"You know," he says. "Included. Free."

She shakes her head, still looking up at the stained glass. "We can't expect our children to pay for everything now, can we?"

He smiles then joins her as she follows the doorman inside. The exterior is even more impressive than the exterior. All red and gold and marble, their eyes take in the curved grand marble staircase in front of them also carpeted in red. Its railing is an open filigree design, gold and and ornate as well, as is the rest of the lobby. Harry looks over at Ruth who's looking at the huge Christmas tree, decorated in gold and red and placed right next to the marble staircase.

He squints up at the enormous crystal chandelier directly above his head. Almost immediately, his head begins to ache again. "Opulent." He says, pulling his gaze from it.

"Well," she says, turning from the tree, "it's supposed to be. Modeled after the French Renaissance Chateau style, it was built in 1907..." her voice fades as his headache grows. ..."designed by Hardenberg, it-"

"I think," he says, his head now beginning to throb in earnest, "we're to check in. There." They follow their luggage now being handled by a bellboy, pushing their belongings on a wheeled cart, also shiny, also gold, towards the front desk.

"Welcome to the Plaza, Mr. and Mrs. Cousins." The clerk says, smiling at them. Ruth nearly rolls her eyes. "Someone needs to speak with the kids," she says to Harry under her breath. "Really. Enough is enough," she adds. Harry signing in, gives her the tiniest of nudges as the clerk studies both of them. Moments later, he slides their room keys, or rather cards, towards them. "We have 24 hour room service, of course. Anything you need, please, do not hesitate to ask. We are here to please you."

"Thank you," Harry says, and taking one card, gives Ruth the other.

"And I do hope that you find our hotel satisfactory." The bellhop says a few minutes later, just before he opens the door to the room. Jeremy, according to his brass nameplate, smiles at them like his teeth are made of gold, too. But they might as well be, Harry thinks, for all the money someone must have paid for such perfectly aligned and unnaturally white teeth. Mesmerised, Harry tries to pull his eyes away from them before his headache, just recently abated, kicks up again from the practically phosphorescent glare emitting from them.

The door opens. More gold. And red. And the room, not the largest in the hotel by far, is still sumptuous. Jeremy's noteworthy teeth forgotten, two sets of eyes, one brown and the other blue, lock upon the enormous bed covered in red. Right in front of them. The young man clears his throat.

Two sets of eyes jerk back to him. "And here," Jeremy says, going over to a door on the right side of the room, "is your adjoining room. As you can see," he says, "it's nearly identical to this one." He opens the door to the smaller room, although not by much. Another bed looms in front of them. Also red. Also huge.

The bellhop stands there expectantly. Ruth begins to rummage in her bag, but Harry beats her to it, tipping Jeremy who is all smiles again. Harry averts his eyes from the blinding teeth in the nick of time.

"I do hope you enjoy your stay here." Jeremy goes on, smiling even more brilliantly than before. "And of course, enjoy the complimentary champagne and chocolates of course." They follow his gaze and see on the Edwardian styled table in the corner a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Also gold. The chocolates are right next to the champagne and peek out from an open weaved basket. Gold, too. And then Jeremy all but winks at Harry. "Anything you need, just let me know. " He says to Harry. "Anything. At all."

Before Harry can react, the young man slips away. Harry glances at Ruth who suddenly appears to be quite interested in the wallpaper.

"Well." Harry says, clearing his throat, "Which bed shall we sleep in?"

Wallpaper forgotten, she jerks her head to him.

"I mean," he adds hurriedly, "which room do you want? To sleep in. I mean. For yourself." Suddenly, the wallpaper becomes a subject of interest for him as well.

But she barely looks at him. "Any bed is fine. I mean, room is fine." Her cheeks take on a pinkish hue. "The adjoining room is fine," she adds and quickly begins to head towards it. She turns back. "Oh, by the way, how's your bed? Pink cheeks deepen into a lovely shade of crimson. "Head, of course." She smiles nonchalantly. "Jet lag, you know." "

"Of course," he says. "What else could you have meant?"

She nods wordlessly. He does the same. They stand there for a few seconds, the bed between them, his head quite forgotten. Finally, she turns towards the adjoining room. "Good night, Harry." But she stops right outside the door, her hand on the doorknob." Sleep tight." She says. "And don't let the bed bugs bite."

"Bed bugs?" His eyes open as wide as they can.

She nods. "You do know, of course, that there's an epidemic of the lovely critters in Manhattan? Even in the best of hotels?" She pauses. "Well, good night." She says again and closes the door.

"Right." He says. He watches until the light peeking under her door is extinguished. In less than a NY minute, he goes over to his bed and strips the bed right down to its mattress. Bending down, he examines its seams. Twice.

"Right." He says again, glancing at her closed door. "Sleep tight." Shaking his head, he flops into the bed, fully clothed. He knows he won't be able to sleep a wink; yet he soon finds that he welcomes the subject of bed bugs, rather than what is just behind the door. But mere bed bugs are simply no match for her now sleeping, he presumes, in the other room. Or is she, he wonders, also awake and thinking about what is behind _her_ door? Convinced he will be awake all night, he stares at the closed door, willing it to give him some answers. Any answers. But none are forthcoming. At least not this night. As he begins to drift off, his last conscious thoughts are of her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for reading/feedback. I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am writing it! :) And many thanks to our lovely and talented NORTHERNEXPOSURE for giving me the following idea:**

_On the other side of the door..._

-5-

But Ruth is still awake. In bed. On the other side of the door. And unlike Harry, she is appropriately dressed for sleeping, in a soft fleecy set of sky blue pajamas. But that is the only difference, it seems, between them. That and the door which separates them. She wonders what he had been thinking about before drifting off. And if he is dreaming. And what he is dreaming about. And about whom he is dreaming. And she knows that he is indeed sound asleep because of what had happened not long ago. That and of course, she can still hear, even from where she is in her bed, the gentlest of snoring from the other side of the door. But aside from that, all is quiet. And in stark contrast to not long ago when his mysterious movements and mutterings had actually brought her to the door. Holding her breath. Listening. Trying to picture him. Her ear pressed into the wood.

Then, not long ago at all, she had taken note of the light still peeking through beneath the bottom edge of the door. Carefully, she had crept over there fervently hoping he could not see a shadow of any kind at the door's edge from where she was standing. True, she had told herself, her side was dark, her feet bare, but still she had prayed that it was dark enough. That no tell-tale shadow could be seen. The very idea that he would know she was standing there had made her heart stop for a moment. After a while, however, it began to beat again. And it was only then that she had begun to listen in earnest. Pressing her ear to the door, she had put all her analytical talents to the test. But it had been to no avail. Whatever he had been doing and muttering about failed to take shape in her mind. For just a moment, though, it had sounded liked he was stripping the bed of its covers. But she had discounted that immediately as absurd, her conversation of bed bugs forgotten. But his muttering was indisputable. And so, she had pressed her ear till it hurt against the wood. That as well was to no avail. What he had been muttering about would forever remain a mystery to her.

And when a thud from his side had nearly caused her to lose her balance, she had held her breath again. And waited. Another thud. But she had only smiled then, inordinately pleased she had guessed right. His shoes. Still, she had continued to stand there. Waiting. For what, she could not have answered. Not even herself. And then, a creak. A loud creak. This she had also understood. He was in bed. Still she had stood there. And listened. Then soon, remarkably soon, it had seemed to her, he had begun to snore. That had brought a smile to her face. And it was only then that she had turned back to her own bed, finally slipping under the covers.

And it is there that she now lies. Under the covers. Staring at the door. And the panel of wood that separates her from him. Now she wonders why he left the light on. If it will disturb him. If only she could sneak in and shut it off. But she rejects that as far too dangerous. What if he were to wake up? See her standing there? In her nightclothes? Her heart starts to pound again. She wonders if he is even wearing pajamas. And what kind of pajamas. Perhaps he only wears underwear. Boxers? Briefs? She claps a hand to her mouth in the dark, picturing his hairy legs in his underwear, his little bit of pot belly peeking through his undershirt. She presses her hand to her mouth even more. What if he sleeps sans underwear? Her mind starts to go even further. Suddenly, she coughs. Twice. Her eyes jerk to the door. She listens. But he is still snoring. She breathes again. She grabs some bottled water on the night table by her bed and drinks a bit. Placing it back, she finally lies her head down on her pillow. She continues to worry that the light from his side will disturb him. And with that last thought, she drifts off to sleep. On the other side of the door.

* * *

_Next up: H/R Ice skating? _

_Whee!_


	6. Chapter 6

_."...New York...a wonderful town..the people ride in a hole in the ground ..."_

-6-

"Housekeeping!"

Ruth, already up, pads to the exit door in her room. "One minute." She calls out. She fumbles at the door, rarely used by its guests other than as an auxiliary door for an emergency.

"Housekeeping!"

"Just a minute." Ruth says, this time louder. Finally, she gets the door open. There is no one there. Sticking her head out more, she sees on her left the chambermaid with cart and cleaning supplies standing in front of Harry's room and main door just a few feet away.

"Hello?" Ruth calls out. The maid turns her head towards her.

"Housekeeping?" The maid says now moving a bit towards Ruth.

"Um… Would you please come back later? We've only just—"

The other door opens. Harry, his wispy hair standing all around his head, turns his head to the right. And to Ruth.

Their eyes connect. "Oh." They say simultaneously. Rubbing his unshaven chin, he takes her in taking him in. Then he glances down at his state of dishabille: his rumpled shirt is pulled out of his trousers with one leg pushed up a bit, exposing his pale skin above a black sock. The other foot is bare. Looking back up at her, he shrugs sheepishly.

Then he sweeps his eyes over her outfit: fleecy sky blue pajamas, her breasts beneath the top, rounded and unencumbered by a bra. She steps back just a bit, blushing ever so slightly.

"Housekeeping?" The chambermaid says again, her head swiveling back and forth between the two.

Their heads snap back to the maid. "Oh, Right. Would you please-?"

"-Perhaps a bit later?"

The chambermaid's head continues to pivot from one to the other. Finally she nods. "OK. Later." Then sets off down the hall with her cart and utensils. And a knowing smile on her face.

"Well." Harry says, still holding the door open with one foot.

"Well," she says, hand on her open door as well.

"How did you sle—"

"Did you sle—"

"Right." They both say, nodding as well.

Neither speak for a moment.

"You hungry, Ruth?" He finally asks.

She nods readily. "Yes. Actually, they've set up a buffet for us."

"The kids." Harry says. He smiles crookedly, rubbing his chin again.

She nods. "I can be—"

"Just give me few—"

They stop. Again.

Finally, she says, "I won't be long."

"Neither will I," he says.

Then they nod. One door closes. Then the other.

* * *

Breakfast is surprisingly good. The coffee is hot and there's plenty of food. "The kids," as Harry insists on calling their hosts, appear to spare no expense for their international cohorts. Sitting across from Ruth, Harry holds up a piece of bacon from his plate.

"Streaky," Ruth says.

He nods. "Good though." He takes a bite as Ruth goes on. "But you know, if you want our bacon, just remember to ask for ham."

He nods. "I know," he says, speaking around the crispy bacon. A little piece sticks to the corner of his mouth.

As Harry begins to discourse on the differences between their bacon, breakfast and choice of beverages on either side of the pond, Ruth's eyes fix upon the little bit of bacon still wedged next to his lips. For an instant, her hand rises on its own accord. She takes note of it just in time, dropping it upon her lap, holding it fast with her other hand for good measure, "And," he goes on, " Have you noticed that their.. Something wrong, Ruth?" He asks, culinary commentary interrupted.

She raises her brow. Then ever so discreetly, she touches her own corner of her mouth.

His brow raises as well.

"Bacon, she whispers, leaning in just a bit.

"Ah. " He says. And brushes at his face.

"Other side," she says, still whispering.

He tries again. But the bit of bacon eludes him.

Finally, she reaches over and with the lightest of touches, brushes it off. Her hand touches his lips inadvertently.

She pulls back her hand, the feel of his lips indelibly imprinted upon her hand.

He smiles across at her.

She looks down, adjusting the napkin on her lap.

"Well," He says after a moment, and patting his rounded stomach, "not exactly a Full English Breakfast, but it'll do." His recently expanded middle adds credence to his words.

Her nocturnal image of him in undershirt and rounded belly skips unbidden across her mind. She picks up her tea and takes a sip, not looking at him.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" He says into the silence.

She nods. "Tea, toast, and fruit are more than enough. I do have," she adds at his look of disapproval, "a dress to fit into, you know." Then she smiles and fiddles with her napkin again.

"What kind is it?"

She jerks her head up. "Sorry?"

"Your dress." He says, stirring his coffee, now cold. Around. And around.

"Erm... Formal. Of course." She says taking another sip of her sip of tea, now tepid. "I thought that I would take in some sights." Ruth says suddenly, setting her cup down. "Since we have a whole day before the ball, that is."

He nods. " Of course. I, unfortunately, have a conference." He sighs. "Within the hour, actually. "

She nods. "I know."

"Well, you can go, Ruth. Of course. You should go."

She sits there." Right."

She takes another sip. He begins to stir his coffee again.

"Would- "

"Would-

They stop.

"Can you ice skate, Harry?"

He drops his spoon. And it clangs against the side. "Ice skate?"

She nods. "I thought I'd go to the NY Public Library."

"They have a rink in their library?" He stares at her incredulously.

She laughs outright. "Hardly." She says. "It's a wonderful library. With books, Real books. Some even read there. In their library."

He smiles benignly at her.

"It's next to the park. Bryant Park. Where one can skate there. And shop. And it's not far from Herald Square. And Macy's." Her eyes light up.

"Shopping, " he says and his face drops a bit.

She shakes her head. " _Window_ shopping." She begins to speak rapidly. "The windows are are all dressed up. You know, for the holiday. And then we can.." She stops. "I mean..."

"I'll meet you at 11:00." He smiles broadly.

Her smile matches his.


	7. Chapter 7

_East side, West side,_

_All around the town,_

_The tots sang "Ring-a-Rosie,"_

_"London Bridge is Falling Down."_

_Boys and girls together,_

_Me and Mamie O'Rourke,_

_Tripped the light fantastic,_

_On the sidewalks of New York._

**Traditional Words and Music By: Chas. B. Lawlor and James W. Blake; Copyright Unknown**

-7-

Harry is as good as his word. In fact, a few minutes before 11:00, he waits for Ruth in the Oak room, the Plaza's restaurant, and appropriately named because of its beautiful English oak walls. So beautiful are the walls and so lovely a room is it, that for one moment Harry can well imagine his friends and colleagues sitting here smoking a cigar and nursing a brandy. This, he thinks, looking around in appreciation, is a Club. And one steeped in tradition as well.

But all that fades when she walks in, wearing her coat. It's open and he can see she's wearing a black turtle neck sweater, a flared skirt and black tights. On her feet she wears flats, also black. Perfect for sightseeing and for ice skating, he thinks. And for ogling. Not that he would do the last as a gentleman, of course. Nor would he do so given his profession where a schooled expression is not just obligatory but invaluable. He looks at her, then, with polite admiration.

But polite does not equate with pedestrian. Not at all. His eyes sparkle as they skim over her fitted sweater and skirt. He takes in her hair as well, softly pulled back off of her face, perhaps to keep it out of the way on the ice. He draws nearer.

"Lovely." She says, looking at the recently restored wood which now gleams all around them.

"Lovely." He says his eyes on her. "Yes."

She looks up at him and colors. "Well." She says. "Shall we?"

And he says. "Yes."

They cross the street, stopping first at the Grand Army Plaza directly across the hotel. There's a young couple taking pictures of the statue of Pomona, the Roman goddess of abundance. She is raised up high in the centre of the plaza and stands above and in a bowl of water which cascades down to another bowl and finally down to the last level where they stand. The goddess bends down towards them holding a bowl of fruit as well. She wears nothing except for a bit of material against one leg. Her rounded hips and full breasts revel in all their glory, the bright rays of the sun showcasing every luscious line of her feminine form. Both Ruth and Harry, side by side, look up admiring her. After a few minutes, Harry walks around, examining the back of the sculpture which shows her lovely derriere as well.

"Excuse me. " Ruth turns toward the voice. A young woman, one half of the couple there, holds out a camera towards her. "Would you mind? Please? We're on our honeymoon and…"

"Of course not. " Ruth says and smiles brilliantly.

"Oh! The young woman says. "You're English, right?"

Ruth nods. "From the U.K."

The newlywed grabs her husband's arm. "We're tourists, too. The Midwest." She spreads one arm out. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Harry begins to walk back to where Ruth and the couple are chatting.

"Congratulations," Harry says softly to the young man. And best wishes to you, " he says, turning to the young woman.

"Thank you," they both say, smiling at him. As Ruth focuses the camera, they stand together near the statue, and she snaps their picture. Their arms are wrapped around one another, their golden rings shiny and new.

Ruth hands back the camera, smiling, "I wish both of you the best."

"Thank you!" she says, accepting the camera. She checks the image and nods. "It's perfect. Thank you so much!" She turns to go, but turn back. "And how long are you married?" The woman asks.

Harry clears his throat. "Well."

Ruth says only, "Have a wonderful time!"

"You too," the couple call out, their attention focused upon themselves once more. Ruth and Harry watch them as the newlyweds walk down the avenue, their arms still wrapped around one another.

"Sweet." Ruth says, watching them.

"Yes. " He says, not quite looking at her. "Well," he says, tugging at his collar a bit, "Where to first?"

"The library?"

He nods.

And they set off. They take 5th Ave towards Bryant Park on 42nd street. But on the way, they stop off at St. Patrick's cathedral. St Pat's of course, is huge. And so are the crowds. But they brave them and enter, walking down the long aisle, passing the equally long wooden pews. Ruth cranes her neck at the stained glass all around her. There are many side chapels in the cathedral as well. Walking further down, she stops at one. Candles flicker in the votive holders, most of them already lit. But she finds one that is not and lights it. She stands there for a long moment. The candle flickers like the others, the small red votive holder emitting a warm glow. She senses Harry just a bit behind her, quietly waiting. And watching. When she turns, he gives her a gentle smile.

With a final nod to the grandeur of the church, they continue down towards the avenue, still negotiating the crowds, the noise, and the sidewalk, the last which is at times blocked off due to construction. But they manage, sometimes stepping into the street, ever mindful of the bike couriers and recreational cyclist as well. The day is crisp and cold but the sun is high in the brilliant blue sky. And in no time at all, it seems, they are staring up at the two huge marble lions flanking the NY Public Library.

"Although built earlier," Ruth says, "the library was dedicated in 1911. This is of course, the main branch, but there are others scattered throughout the boroughs of Manhattan." She stops, pointing to the stone lions, one on either side of them. "These were named Fortitude and Patience by the mayor of NYC, Fiorello La Guardia, during The Depression. They've had other nicknames as well, such as Lady Astor and Lord Lennox, even though," she smiles, " you can clearly see that they are both males." She looks up the shaggy marble manes on each lion. Then she glances over at Harry and sees he is smiling at her.

"As ever, Ruth, you're a fount of information." He says then pauses before going on. "You really do know everything, don't you?"

"Nonsense." She says firmly. But she stands up a bit straighter as they climb the Library's steps and enter the massive edifice.

About an hour later or so, they leave from the west side of the library, just steps from Bryant Park and Citi Pond, the ice rink there. Large enough to handle crowds, the outdoor rink is surrounded by glass buildings where one can shop, eat, or rent skates. The rink is already teeming with people. Ruth and Harry watch the skaters glide past them. Some struggle; some fall; some skate very well; but all, it seems, are having fun, as the sun sun glints off silver blades going round and round. There are also a few who skate beautifully, floating above the ice untethered, it seems, by either gravity or perhaps, earthly concerns.

"Shall we, then?" Harry asks.

She turns to him. "Sure."

They head into the skating hut, also a glass enclosure. Moments later, skates dangling, they head over to the lockers. Soon they are sitting side by side on a bench, lacing up their skates.

Harry, black skates finally laced up, flexes his ankles a bit. "Too bad I don't have mine," he says. "These really don't-"

He stops. She is looking at him strangely, her white skates laced up as well.

"Do you really skate, Harry?"

"A bit." He says.

"Really." She takes a small breath. " I didn't know that."

"Lots of things, Ruth, you don't know about me." He says and then stands up. Extending his hand to her, he helps her to her feet. Both stand there looking at one another. Her balance is good. And so is his.

"How are they?" He says, finally dropping her hand.

"Not the greatest support," she says, echoing his sentiments, "but they'll do, I suppose."

Both head back to the rink. He lets her go first and watches as she carefully steps over the rim and onto the ice at last. She skates a little away from him, almost gingerly at first. But after a minute or two, she does more than a decent job of it. Although there is nothing fancy about her skating, it is clearly competent. She skates back to him, her cheeks flushed.

"Nicely done." He says and means it.

Then he takes off. He skates out to the middle of the rink, posture upright, head high, creating a lean line despite his stocky body. He finds an area less crowded and manages a figure eight. Twice. Then he skates backward a bit and does a slight turn, as smooth as liquid mercury. Breathing a bit heavily, he glides back to her. Her mouth is hanging open.

"Harry." She manages to say at last. "I had no idea! You can really skate!"

He smiles. And almost does a little bow. "Just a bit. Learned as a kid." He says, still a bit breathless." My uncle's place in the Cotswolds. Gloucestershire, actually."

"You never cease to amaze me," she says.

"I try, Ruth. I try." And he beams.

"So?" He holds his hand out. She takes it.

And even though they both wear gloves, it is as if they do not. The heat from their hands permeate through to the other's hand, the leather melting away. Their cheeks turn pink and little white puffs of air waft above them. They skate on, their bodies warming in the cold air as well. They are still holding hands when a little girl, red scarf tied around her neck, bumps into them. "Sssorry," she says, showing a missing tooth. She begins to tumble, but Harry grabs and rights her. "There you go!" Upright again, the little one smiles up at him. A moment later, her mother glides by. " Thank you! " She says waving a mittened hand.

He turns to nod at her. Another skater, a teenage boy and obviously a novice, heads directly for Harry, his back still turned. The young man comes to a dead stop. Seconds after, the young man's friends plow into him. And Ruth. And Harry. And in moments, all are sprawled on the ice, a tangle of skates, arms and legs. Harry finds himself completely on top of Ruth, his hand pressing into a soft mound. He removes it quickly. "Sorry," he mutters. Then he says, "Good God. Ruth. Are you you ok?"

"I think so," she says, still trying to untangle herself from arms and legs and sharp blades. The young crowd, unhurt, are now laughing hysterically as they quickly pick themselves up and skate away. Ruth, the last to get up, says nothing as Harry fusses over her. "Did you hit your head?"

"No." She says as he helps her up. Then she smiles at him. "I'm fine. Really, Just a bit shocked, I think. I just didn't see that coming."

Harry shakes his head. "You sure you're ok?"

"Of course. " She says.

"I'm sorry that I fell on you. I hope I didn't hurt you. I didn't, did I?"

"Harry," she says, just before she takes off on her skates, "It was the highlight of my day."

When he catches up with her, she doesn't look at him when she speaks. " I…I.. don't know why….I…said that." Her face is very pink.

"I'm glad you did," he says softly.

Neither speaks for a moment. He holds his hand out again. She takes it immediately. The music plays. Children laugh. People fall. But they skate. On and on…..


	8. Chapter 8

**And where do you think I went last night, dear readers? That's right! To all the places (well most!) where H/R are in my fic! Although I've worked in the city and am a native New Yorker, just writing about the city gave me the urge to do a little sightseeing again! I took pix as well. And will try to post a link as soon as possible. Please keep checking, if interested. (Or I will tell you where/when next chapter) Anyway...**

**-8-  
**

They skate on and on...

But reality intrudes or rather, the crowds. In fact, with barely an inch to spare and the ice no longer smooth, ice skating becomes merely wishful thinking. And so, after the umpteenth time of being bumped, the most recent time seriously competing with their earlier spill onto the ice, Harry turns to Ruth. But before he actually says anything, she simply nods and says, "Yes. It's time. "

He nods as well, smiling at her. Reluctantly, they move off the ice and back to the skating hut, still holding hands. Once again reality imposes its will; dropping hands, they exchange their skates for their own shoes, heading towards their lockers for the rest of their belongings.

'You must be hungry," he says to her, sitting on the bench and slipping his shoes back on. "You hardly ate breakfast."

"I'm really not hungry. But I could use something hot to drink." She replies, sitting right next to him.

"Tea?" He asks before standing up.

"Hot chocolate," she smiles up at him. "With whipped cream."

"That sounds good."

She stands up then and together, they head towards Celsius, the glass enclosed restaurant just feet away from the ice. The restaurant has two levels, with outdoor and indoor seating. As they climb the few steps up, they see that affixed to each small table is a heat lamp.

"Oh, "Ruth says, looking at the heat lamps, "that's a great idea."

Harry nods. "It is." So they sit there above the ice, a perfect view of the tree all lit up in blue and white lights, drinking their beverages, the heat lamps warming them. After looking at the skaters for a while, she turns back to her hot chocolate, blowing on it. The soft white peaks are already melting into the chocolate. But when she takes a sip, a bit of cream sticks to her lips. Her tongue darts out, and she licks it off quickly. When she looks up, she sees that his eyes are on her, a sly smile on his face.

"What?" she says. "Do I still?" And she licks her lips again.

He shakes his head, his smile making him look years younger. "No." He simply says. Then he takes a sip of his coffee, but his eyes never leave her face.

"Harry. I warn you. I better not." Despite her words, her eyes sparkle.

"You don't. Really." But he adds under his breath, "More's the pity."

She widens her eyes.

He shrugs. "I like the way you... ...never mind," he says. And takes another sip of his drink, his gaze unwavering.

She looks down for a moment, a slight blush on her checks. Then carefully taking another sip of her hot chocolate, she fixes her eyes on him. He's still smiling, watching her. They sit there, then, sipping their beverages, the heat lamps warming them along with their smiles.

When they finish, he says, "What would you like to do next?"

"Well," she says, "I've always wanted to see the Empire State Building. And it's right here. I mean, nearby. For the view you know, "she adds. He doesn't say anything to that, a distant look on his face. She is about to speak when he finally says, "Yes, the view. I'd like that very much."

Both say nothing for a moment, perhaps thinking of another view that has become their own, thousands of miles away.

They head down to 34th and 5th Ave and when they get there, they crane their necks up at the building. "This is more than 1250 feet or, 381m metres above Manhattan, and was for decades, " she says, "the tallest building in the city. That is of course, until the twin towers were built. And now that they," and she drops her voice, "were destroyed, well, it's once more the tallest building here in the city."

Neither speaks. Then Harry sighs just a bit. She nods just a bit. They stand there in silence for a few moments as if paying homage to the thousands of lives lost on that tragic day not so very long ago.

"Well," he finally says, turning towards her. She nods. And moments later they head inside. After they wait on line and pass the security check, they take the lift, and passing the 89th floor observation deck, continue on to the 102nd floor observatory, the penultimate level from the very top. They step onto the deck and look out. The panoramic view is magnificent. They can see all of lower Manhattan, its boroughs and a bit of Connecticut as well. In silence, they stare out and beyond, taking note of the horizon curving against the brilliant blue sky. They are so close to one another that they can hear the other breathing. Harry reaches for her hand. She takes it.

She draws closer to him; so close, in fact, that their shoulders touch. Then as one, they turn towards one another. Their eyes meet. He moves in just a bit closer. She does too. He moves in even closer and begins to lean in towards her. Her eyes begin to close.

"Come back here!"

Ruth's eyes snap open. They both take a step back as a little boy, no more than three, his woolen hat askew, runs between them. "Sorry!" His mother, presumably, calls out, passing between them as well in in pursuit of her wayward child. Ruth and Harry watch as the woman finally catches up with the boy moments later. Harry clears his throat. Ruth says nothing, but there is a definite flush on her checks. Both turn back to the view. They are no longer close; their shoulders no longer touch; and they no longer hold hands.

Finally, still gazing out, he says, "Is there anything else, Ruth, you'd like to see? Or are you tired?"

She looks at him then, "Well, yes to both, actually. But I think fatigue is winning out."

"Good," he says now looking at her as well. "I mean, not good. I mean. You know what I mean."

"Yes." She says, laughing softly. "I do. It's been a long day." As they head back down in the lift, she says, "In fact, maybe we should head back to the hotel. I think all that ice skating wore me out."

He looks her over. "We could take a cab if you're tired." he says. She doesn't say anything until they reach the bottom and step outside once more. She looks doubtfully at the traffic, now barely moving down the avenue. The cross streets are even worse. Traffic cops are now in view, using lighted batons to give some sense of order to the crowd for both pedestrians and drivers, growing larger it seems as the day grows shorter.

"I don't think we'd get there any faster," she says, still looking at the nearly still traffic, barely moving at all.

"We could take the tube-"

"Subway," she says, automatically. "Sorry. Didn't mean to correct—"

"Don't be." He says and smiles. "I depend on you to keep me informed, you know."

"Well," she says, "nice to know that I'm needed." She begins to study a store widow all dressed up for the holidays. When he draws near her, she looks up and says a little too brightly, "I don't mind walking, really. Do you?"

"No." He says, shaking his head. He leans in a bit towards her. "About before. About being informed. I only meant…"

"It's fine, Harry. I know what you meant. But thank you. " And she reaches for his hand. And the smile on his face lights up the avenue.

* * *

Moments before they step into the Plaza, she says, "There is one more thing I really would like to do, though."

"What is it? Or where, rather?"

"But tomorrow. Not today."

"But tomorrow is the -"

"Ball. I know. But it's near our hotel. Or close enough."

"What is it?"

"Tomorrow."

He stops just steps from the hotel. "Now you've intrigued me."

"Good," she says. They walk up the steps, no longer holding hands. But they still walk close together. When they finally reach their room upstairs, Harry uses his card to open the main door, Ruth standing at his side. The bed, as ever, looms before them.

"How are you sleeping?" He asks as they enter the room. "I mean," he amends, "how is your bed?" He makes a face at that as well.

"It's fine." she says, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I only meant…" He stands there, an uncharacteristic look of helplessness on his face.

"My bed is fine, Harry. Thanks." She says, smiling a bit. "And yours?"

"Fine." He says. "No bedbugs."

"Bed bugs?"

"Remember last night you mentioned…"

"Oh…right. I did. I'd forgotten about that actually." She pauses before going on. "You didn't worry about that all night did you?"

"I was out like a light," he says." Not quite looking at her. "Jet lag, you know."

"I see." She says. And nothing else for a few moments "Well," she finally says, "I think I'm going to lie down for a while."

"You should. I think I may as well."

"Well…ok." She says and begins to turn away towards her room.

"Um…Ruth?"

"Yes?" She says, turning back.

"I ….enjoyed myself today."

"I did, too."

"Would you... I don't know if you have plans for the evening…"

"What kind of plans would I have, really?"

He shrugs. "I don't wish to presume."

She simply smiles, waiting.

"Later on. I mean. Dinner. Would you like to have dinner. Together? A little later. After your rest?"

"Harry. I'd love to." She says, now smiling brilliantly. She turns away again and then stops once more, looking back at him. "You know where to find me, of course," Then turning from him at last, she goes into her room for good, gently closing the door. But does not lock it.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry for the bit of delay in updating; RL intrudes:end of semester crazies/much grading to do! And as far as pics, I have uploaded them, but not sure best way to post the link. Will keep trying, though. Anyway, here's the next chappy; will also try my best to add another chapter later this eve. Enjoy!:)_

-9-

Harry awakens a little bit after 6. Glancing at the time, he realizes that he's been out for more than two hours. Then he looks at at the door separating him and Ruth. Closed. No light. No sound. He continues to stare at it, and not for the first time since being here, he wishes he had X Ray vision. But mere mortal that is he, Harry simply goes up to the door and listens. Nothing. He moves in a little closer. The door opens.

Both gasp. Both back up. Both stare at one another. Eyes wide. Mouths open. In fact, the only thing that actually is moving is the door. It continues to swing open of its own accord.

Ruth finds her voice first. " Oh!" She manages to say.

"Sorry." He manages to say, taking one step back. "I was just going to knock on your door. "

"Me, too. "

Both stare at the other.

Harry swallows. "Shall we try this again?" He finally says.

"I suppose we should." She replies.

He takes a breath. "Ruth. Would you like to have dinner?"

She smiles, then. "Yes. Very much."

Both seem to notice for the first time that each stands with one foot in the threshold, still inches from one another.

He says, "Would you like to try the Oak room? For dinner, I mean?"

She nods. "It's a lovely room."

"I'm glad you said that."

She tilts her head at him.

"I …uh.. took the liberty of making a reservation there. Before. Before I fell asleep, that is. But we can cancel of course. I just didn't want to take the chance that—"

"I'm glad you took the initiative."

"Yes. Initiative." He says. "Initiative is. Good. Sometimes. "

She nods. Then says, "Well, I think I'll just freshen up." She begins to turn.

"You look fine."

She turns back and looks down at her wrinkled outfit, her skirt and turtleneck sweater, twisted a bit from sleeping in it. "Just give me a few -"

"- Take as much time as you need. Dinner's not till 8."

"Good. That will give me more time." She looks towards her bathroom. "I'm ... going to take a shower, actually."

"Me too." he adds.

They stand looking at one another, not quite meeting the other's eyes. Finally, Harry says, "Just knock or let me know when you're ready."

She nods. "Of course. I'll knock. And I won't be too long, either." She smiles.

"Maybe we we can have some of that champagne. If you like. Before dinner." He jerks his head on his side of the room to the Edwardian table where the bottle is still untouched, still in ice, refilled by the maid during the day. The chocolates in the basket next to it are untouched as well.

She hesitates.

"Or not," He says, quickly.

"I think that will be lovely. I'll try not to be too long."

"That's...good. Fine."

She nods, then she slowly closes the door. It opens again." Um..Harry.."

"Yes?" He asks, turning back to her.

"Is it casual? I mean is there a dress code?"

"Casual." He answers. "No tie. He smiles at that. "But no t shirts. "

"I don't think either of us will have a problem, then." She smiles as well.

* * *

Not long after, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in." he calls out. He's freshly shaved, a scent of aftershave in the air and is wearing a lightweight knit sweater with crew neck, light tan in color. His trousers are dark brown, almost black, the material soft. She's wearing a dark green knitted sweater which clings to her curves over black slacks. She's wearing her flats again. And her hair, unlike the afternoon when it was pulled back, is now loose with soft waves framing her face.

She steps into the room.

"You look..very nice." He says, his eyes resting for a moment on her sweater.

"So do you. I don't think I've ever seen you in that before."

"Well. I don't often wear…I mean at work."

"Of course." She says.

They stand next to the bed, admiring one another for a moment longer. "Oh. " He says, "Right. Champagne." Grabbing the bottle, towel wrapped around its neck, he tilts it away from her. "Stand back." And in one expert move, pops the cork. It makes a satisfying sound.

"Good job!" She says.

He looks inordinately pleased."Never quite know how it's going to turn out." He says, pouring some in a wineglass for her. After he hands it to her, he pours himself some, too. "Well," he says, holding his out to her. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" She says, They clink glasses and she takes a sip. Immediately, she begins to choke.

"Good God, Ruth." He says setting his glass down. "Are you ok?"

She flaps her hand at him. "Fin..." But she is unable to say anything else. She continues to make choking sounds. He begins to tap her back. Now she starts to cough. He begins to pound her back. Finally, she is able to take a breath and speak. "That. That …. God. That was…so ..embarrassing."

"You ok?" He asks again, his eyes searching her face.

She nods, still a bit red in the face. "I. Don't. Know. What. Happened. Actually."

"Let me get you some water." He grabs a water bottle, pouring her a bit in a cup.

She takes the tiniest of sips.

"Ok?" He asks, still watching her.

She nods. And takes a another breath. "Ok."

"You sure?"

"Of course." She says, now speaking almost normally. She clears her throat. "I guess you can't take me anywhere."

"Can happen to anyone. And does." He adds.

She shrugs. "But it seems to happen to me more often than others. Especially when I 'm ner..." She lets it hang there.

"Don't be." He says into the silence, very softly. "Please." No one speaks for a moment. Then he says, "I'm just glad that you're ok."

She nods, setting down her glass next to his. "I'm afraid to have some more, actually."

"Chocolates?" He grabs the basket and holds it out in front of her.

She begins to laugh. "I don't think so, either. And at this point, I'm afraid to eat dinner."

"You'll be fine. " He says and touches her arm. She reaches out to touch his as well. And when she does, she feels his bare skin where his sleeve is pushed up, exposing his wrist and forearm. His skin is still warm from the shower.

They stand there looking at one another, still touching. Then they draw a little closer. And closer still. This time there is no little boy with woolen hat and frazzled mother to get in their way. But there are mobiles.

It rings.


	10. Chapter 10

_Here's the 2nd half that I just couldn't get to last night; sorry to leave you hanging. (Or am I? hehehe) Good thing I live in NY, right? A city of MILLIONS…*draws curtains SHUT; turns out light*_

:)

-10-

It rings.

He almost utters an expletive but stops himself in time. They pull apart, both set of eyes on the little bit of modern technology which despite its size, manages to intrude so much within the lives of its users. Sighing, he reaches for it, snapping it open. "Yes?" He barks into the phone. "Yes, Home Secretary," he says, shoulders sagging, As Ruth leans in just a bit to hear better, Harry motions for her to take a seat. She begins to sink down upon the bed, but at the last moment straightens and crosses over to the chair in the room, sitting there instead.

Harry, his eyes on her, moves over to the bed and sits down on it. "Yes, Home Secretary." He says, barely suppressing his sigh. "I'll be there. Yes. Of course. I understand." He rings off a second later.

They both stare across at one another; he on the bed, she in the chair.

"What happened?" She asks.

"Nothing serious. But," he adds, "seems some of the local bigwigs decided that it would be nice to have an impromptu meeting with all the section heads. Of course. As if we don't have an actual life." He glances down at his watch. "Within the hour, no less."He stands up and goes on, his voice rising just a bit. "Which means, of course, that we''re all to sit around waiting with our thumbs up our ars..." He stops and smiles wryly. "Until they decide to grace us with their royal presence." He pauses. "Who says Americans don't have royalty?" He shakes his head, going on." And, so I've been duly informed, failing an emergency, god forbid, it will reflect badly upon Her Majesty if her representative fails to show. Stroke some egos. As if they need more stroking. Bloody politicians," he says, his face darkening at the last.

"Harry." She says going over to him. "You know it's the nature of our business. Politics and all." She smiles. "Maybe it won't take too long."

"Please. They love to go on on. And not say much of anything. You know how it is. On both sides of the pond."

She nods sympathetically.

"Oh," he goes on, "and I've also been duly informed that a 'few words' is how he put it, would not be out of order, as well."

"For tomorrow? A speech?" She looks at him with incredulity.

'"Just a few words.'" He nearly rolls his eyes.

"I'll help if you want."

He looks at her. "If it wouldn't be too much of an imposition." He shakes his head. "Oh. Bugger it all. I'll think of something, No one actually listens, anyway. "

"I want to help. Really."

"It's an imposition." He says.

"It's not." She says emphatically, "We can go over it later. When you return."

"That's just it. I have no idea when." He looks her over once more taking in her dark green sweater and how it clings to her body, his eyes registering real regret. "Go to dinner. No sense it both of us missing out." He glances at his watch. "Actually, the reservation is now." He sighs again. "And so is my blasted meeting. Downstairs. "

"I'll cancel the reservation and wait here a while. And if you get back sometime before midnight... "She smiles gently.

He shakes his head. "Eat. Don't wait for me. Lot of egos in the room. And they all like to talk. Prerequisite for politicians, you know."

"Work." She says, shrugging.

"Right. A four letter word."

"At least it's not anything serious."

He nods. "Yes, there's that." He goes to the door and then turns to her. "I'm sorry, Ruth. More than I can say."

"I am too, but it can't be helped."

"Please get something to eat."

"What about you?"

"I think I've lost my appetite, actually."

Wordlessly, she goes back over to the chair and picks up the menu on the small table there.

"What are you going to do?"

She waves the menu at him. "Eat, of course. Work on your speech."

"Ruth." He shakes his head." Go. It's a nice room. Get something decent to to eat."

"I am. Here." She begins to read the menu but a shadow crosses over it. She looks up. He's leaning in, suddenly interested in the menu. But as she turns her head up towards him, he leans in a bit more, their faces now only inches apart. And as if it were the most natural thing in the world, their lips brush against one another.

He pulls back. "I…"

"I'm glad you did." She says, a soft smile on her face.

His smile transforms his face." I have to go." he says, sighing once more before straightening up.

"Yes." She says, touching his arm lightly for a moment. "Go."

The door closes behind him. Still smiling, she goes over to his bed and stands near it for a long moment. Then, menu in hand, she sits down on it, her hand caressing the area where he had been sitting just moments ago. And holding the menu up, she begins to read.


	11. Chapter 11

_I'm having entirely too much fun writing this! (It sure beats the alternative: grading!) I really hope you like this, too.  
_

:)

11-

At the memory of what just happened moments ago, a little quiver of excitement runs through her. She knows she has a silly smile on her face, too. But she doesn't much care. She forces herself to focus, however, and goes back to looking over the menu, mentally choosing what to eat. But she decides to hold off actually ordering in case he returns sooner than later, as unrealistic as she knows that to be. She looks down at her free hand, still on top of the bed where he was sitting a short while ago. Then she looks around her, her eyes flitting over to the open closet. On the top shelf is his carry all and luggage. A spare navy blue blazer is hanging there, his garment bag right next to it; his shoes, below that. Across from her on the dresser is the champagne, the two wine glasses filled with bubbly drink, mostly untouched; the chocolates next to that, still unopened. And on the night table near the bed are a few bills and coins of his own money no longer needed here in the states. But it is his black sweater which he wore over his shirt this afternoon that holds her attention. It is neatly folded on the dresser and she studies it for a moment, thinking of their day together. Unconsciously, her hand touches her lips.

Mentally shaking herself, she pulls her gaze from his sweater, taking note of the small table next to his bed, mere feet away. On it is a leather binder. She crosses the few feet to it. Exactly the same in her room, she flips it open knowing what she will find: a pen tucked inside along with some rather fine stationery. She smiles. Closing her eyes, she sits quietly there for a minute or so. Then picking up the pen, she begins to write. And write. And write.

* * *

Harry hasn't a spare minute to call Ruth. And he wonders if the next time he shaves or looks in the mirror, he will actually recognize himself: he hasn't stopped smiling the entire evening. But he feels he has little choice both as a representative of the crown and as a guest of his hosts who do seem to show, or bare, Harry often thinks, their teeth. A lot. At least at this meeting. Probably, he thinks, due to the enormous amount of money and time they must spend in order to have such perfectly aligned and artificial looking teeth. He thinks back to Jeremy, his bellboy from the other night and reckons that the young man well on his way to a lustrous career; his perfect teeth a prime qualification for success in their former colony, it seems. So Harry smiles and makes small talk too. But between smiling and schmoozing, there's little opportunity to call Ruth. He does manage to leave a text, but she doesn't respond. He's not worried, though; he merely assumes that she's eating in the Oak room and simply left her mobile in her room. _Good for her._ His mouth curves into a smile when he thinks of their kiss. Or almost kiss. When the room erupts into applause, it is an unwelcome slap back to reality.

He claps along with the rest of them and fixes his perfectly serviceable if not perfect teeth into yet another vapid smile. His eyes now on the speaker, who stands in front of the conference table, Harry wonders when they will stop talking. And smiling. Always smiling.

"And now our esteemed…." The voices drone on. Someone catches his eye from across the table. The other person bares his teeth. Harry shows his.

* * *

When he finally returns, it is well after midnight. He enters the room quietly. And stops dead still. She is sitting at the small table, her head resting on her arms. And from the look of it, sound asleep.

He draws near. Nearer still. "Ruth," he says ever so softly, his hand lightly touching her shoulder. "Ruth."

"Hmmm?" She looks up at him, a glazed look on her face.

"It's time to go to bed." He whispers. "You've fallen asleep. Here."

She stares at him, eyes still unfocused. Clears her throat. "Yeah. Yes….who...?"

"Just go to bed." We'll talk tomorrow." He helps her up, as gently as he speaks. She stumbles a bit towards his bed, "No, not here," he says, holding her a bit tighter, Yawning, she blindly continues on towards his bed despite his best efforts to steer her in the other direction. With only a step away from his bed, he is now left with little choice; there's no room to actually maneuver her especially when she seems intent on sleeping right there. In his bed. Whilst he ponders just what to do, she manages to elude his hold and flops onto his bed. She yawns again. Immediately her eyes seal shut.

He stands looking down at her. "Um. Ruth? Ruth?"

She curls up and mumbles something that sounds like "Night. Harry." In seconds, she is sound asleep again. He stands there for a long moment, nonplussed. Then he smiles, the first genuine smile of the evening since leaving their hotel room hours ago. Grabbing hold of the cover around her, he tucks her in. She burrows into like a feral creature of the night, but other than that, doesn't stir. Reaching over for the light, he shuts the lamp off, plunging the room into near darkness. He stands there looking down at her for a few more seconds more before he turns away. Carefully, he tiptoes out of his room and heads towards hers. But he stops when he reaches the threshold. In the gloom, he can just make out her bed. Turning his head back at her, he can see now that his eyes have adjusted a bit, that she is still huddled under the covers. He steps completely into her room and closes the door but not all the way. Going over to her bed, he shucks his clothes, tossing them on her bed. He gets in quickly. Immediately, he is surrounded by her scent. He closes his eyes and in minutes, he is sound asleep.

Unnoticed by either, the door creaks open.

* * *

She awakens first, the early morning light peeking through the crack in the thick curtains. She opens her eyes more. Then even wider. Immediately, she jerks her head down to the other side of the bed. Then she turns her head, scanning the room. She looks towards his bathroom as well. Quiet. Empty. No light peeking through. The sound registers then. She turns her head in the semi-light towards the open doorway. Finally, she gets up, his gentle snoring leading the way.


	12. Chapter 12

_Imagination is the eye of the soul. _

**- J. Joubert **

12.

She draws near the open door. Then closer. He's still snoring. Now inches from the threshold, she cranes her neck a bit to the left and sees him under the covers. He's sound asleep. She watches him for a long minute, taking note of his clothes tossed on her bed as well. Then backing up, she quietly closes the door behind her. But when she turns from it, it opens. Again.

When he awakens, the evening's events come flooding back. His eyes flit over to the door, and he sees that once again, it's open. Wide open. Certain that he had closed it last night, he stares at the open space. But there is nothing to see. Nor hear. Yet the open door appears to mock him as he stares at it some more. Flinging off the covers, he moves quickly to it, his hand almost touching it.

"Harry?" Less than a foot away from him, she stands there wearing the clothes she slept in.

He stands there, frozen, clad only in rumpled T shirt and boxers. Blue, in fact. Dark blue with little white polka dots on them.

Her eyes fixate on the spots as if mesmerised. Finally, she pulls her gaze from them.

" I…er…was trying to close the door." He says, his hand now finally on the door frame.

"I know. I was, too." She says, still not looking at him. "But I had. Already. I don't quite understan..."

"It's not hung right. That's why it keeps swinging open."

"Oh." She says. "I'll l just give you some ..."and she turns completely away from him.

He closes the door, and this time he listens for the latch to make contact with the jamb. Only minutes later, he's knocking on the recalcitrant door again. "Ruth?"

"Come in," she immediately answers.

"Sorry." He says, walking in the room, dressed in trousers and T shirt, the rest of his clothes draped over one arm. He drops them on one of the chairs nearby.

"You haven't anything to be sorry about." She says. "Actually, I should apologize to you for … Harry, exactly how did I wind up in your…bed? And you...in mine?"

He smiles then. "Well, when I returned, you were sound asleep over there." He points to the small table in the room. " I tried. Really, I did. But you seemed to want to sleep here." He smiles at he memory as his eyes shift to the bed.

"I...I hardly remember. I do know... I was ...really tired. I'm so sorry. "

"Don't be. In fact, it made the whole wretched evening bearable."

She looks down for a moment but she's smiling. Then she goes over to the dresser, picking up the binder."Oh. Right. Here."

"What is it?" He asks as she hands it to him.

"Your speech."

He opens it and sees that it is filled with writing, every bit of white space filled including the margins.

"I jotted down a few –"

"Ruth." He says, looking up at her again. "You must have worked on this for hours."

"I did. I mean, I wanted to. And this way you can choose what you think would work best. For your speech."

He closes the binder. "No wonder you were so tired. Did you even get to eat last night?"

She doesn't answer. "I was going to order breakfast. Now. Actually."

"So that a no." He shakes his head.

"I was ...I became involved in writing the speech."

He moves closer. "What am I going to do with you?

"Do?"

"You know what I mean." He says softly.

Picking up the menu, she says. "Pancakes. I feel like pancakes. And a nice cup of t... No. . . Coffee for a change." She says, sitting down in the chair near the table. She begins to study the menu anew.

"Ruth."

"Pancakes, Harry?" She says, her eyes still on the menu. "Do you want Pancakes?" With bacon? Streaky bacon?"

"Ruth. " He says in the silkiest of tones.

She glances up.

His expression is as soft as his voice. "Thank you for everything." And he places a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"It was nothing." She says quietly.

"It's everything._ Everything._ For saying yes. Coming here. Being here. With me._ Everything_,"

She bites her lip and nods, not quite looking at him. "It's been... entirely my pleasure. Really." She adds, briefly looking at him, her eyes luminous. Neither says anything else for a moment. Finally, she says. "Breakfast? We do have some walking to do before your speech, you know."

"Walking?"

"Remember?" She says. "I wanted to show you something today?"

"Oh, Right. " He says, unable to quite muster up much enthusiasm. But at the look on her face, he immediately pulls his face into a smile. "I'm sure whatever you have planned will be good."

She nods. "I think you'll find it interesting. Perhaps even memorable. And it's not too far."

"Now you've piqued my interest."

"Good." She smiles. "So...Pancakes? Coffee?"

"Yes. Please. "

"Anything else?"

He runs his hand across her shoulder and down her arm a bit before sitting down next to her. She pulls her chair a bit closer to him. And heads bent down, they study the menu together.

* * *

"So, no hints? Nothing?"

"I think that you will appreciate it more this way." She says cryptically, leading the way once outside the Plaza.

"But...?"

"Just trust me. "

He smiles, then. "I do."

He follows her as she heads for the west side of Central Park. There are horse drawn carriages there, and she admires them but passes them by. She passes by the modern take on them, too: bicycle rickshaws expertly weaving in and out of traffic carrying its passengers. She stops and points in the distance to a light colored building.

"That's the Dakota." She says. "An apartment complex quite famous in its own right. Look at its high gables." She continues to points to the building as she goes on. "Built in the 1880's, it's a blend of German Gothic, French, Renaissance and Victorian architecture as well." She takes a breath. "And not only is its history quite interesting, its architect, Henry Janeway Hardenbergh, might sound familiar to you, too."

"Isn't that...?

"Yes, the one and the same. He did the Plaza, too."

"That _is_ interesting. Are we going there?" He asks, looking directly ahead to the large beige colored building.

"No." She says. "But the Dakota does play an important part in our destination."

"Ruth. You tease. "

"Well...I think you will appreciate our trip better this way. If you discover it for yourself, that is." She smiles at him.

"Ah. I'm more intrigued now than ever."

"Good." She says. Then taking his arm, she leads him into the more than 800 acres of parkland including waterways, bridges and thousands of trees, some hundreds of years old. Many of these are elms. As they continue on the path, they take note of all the trees, now bare, on either side of them. Joggers, dog walkers and those simply out for a stroll, pass them; some nod at them as they go by. Harry pulls his coat around him and looks toward Ruth. She doesn't appear to be cold at all. Continuing to lead the way, she walks the path resolutely; he following close behind. Finally, she slows; there's a small sign ahead. Close by is a cluster of benches and an open area of some kind with an oval mosaic in the middle and something placed on top of it. There are people quietly milling around the area as well. She slips away from Harry for a moment, drawing closer to the sign. He joins her a moment later.

STRAWBERRY FIELDS

He lifts his gaze to the Dakota, straight ahead looming in the background. Then he looks over to her. "Yes. Of course."

She nods back. Their eyes drop to the center of the open area to the mosaic. They approach slowly, almost reverently, taking note of the red rose, its bud still tightly furled, placed next to the inscription.

_ Imagine._

His hand finding hers, they stand there. Together.

And imagine.

* * *

_Im__agine there's no heaven_

_ It's easy if you try_  
_ No hell below us_  
_ Above us only sky_  
_ Imagine all the people_  
_ Living for today... _

_ Imagine there's no countries_  
_ It isn't hard to do_  
_ Nothing to kill or die for_  
_ And no religion too_  
_ Imagine all the people_  
_ Living life in peace... _

_ You may say I'm a dreamer_  
_ But I'm not the only one_  
_ I hope someday you'll join us_  
_ And the world will be as one _

_ Imagine no possessions_  
_ I wonder if you can_  
_ No need for greed or hunger_  
_ A brotherhood of man_  
_ Imagine all the people_  
_ Sharing all the world... _

_ You may say I'm a dreamer_  
_ But I'm not the only one_  
_ I hope someday you'll join us_  
_ And the world will live as one_

**J. Lennon. 1940-1980**


	13. Chapter 13

-13-

After leaving Central Park, Harry and Ruth stroll around the area, taking special notice of the decorations, lights, and people of NYC for the last time. Tonight, of course, is the ball, and the day after tomorrow, they go back home. So they take their time walking back, admiring the sights, the sounds and the people, not so very different than Londoners after all. They walk arm in arm, not saying much, their steps matching one another. Soon, perhaps, too soon, they find themselves back at the Plaza. And when they return to their room, Ruth heads directly over to the small table and the binder.

"No." He says firmly, taking her arm, "You've done enough."

She looks up, bemused. "But..."

"No. I mean it. You're to take some time for yourself." And he gently nudges her towards her room.

"But Harry," she says, reaching for the binder.

"No. And that's final." He says using his Grid voice. She looks at him then, and he softens his tone. "Go. Get your hair or nails done, or whatever women do to make themselves beautiful. In your case even more beautiful."

"Harry." She says looking down a bit.

"Go on." He says, softly.

"All right," she says finally and looks up at him, "But if you..."

He continues to nudge her to her door. "I'll see you later. Around 8. Now go."

She opens her mouth, closes it. Then smiling, she does as told and closes the door behind her. But he grabs the door knob from his side and closes it firmly, until latch and jamb meet. It opens almost immediately, though, Harry, still standing there. "Just making sure you understand," he says, "that this stays shut. So you have no excuse to come in and worry about the speech. " Then before she can say anything, he closes it again; the tell-tale click a final punctuation to his words.

Smiling, she shakes her head at the closed door. With nothing else to do but heed his advice, she begins to prepare for the evening just hours away.

* * *

A little before 8, Harry is almost completely dressed, except for his jacket and tie now on his bed.

"Harry?" She calls out to him, rapping lightly on the door between them.

"Come in," he says. When she does, he literally stops breathing.

She stands there, Aphrodite resurrected. One half of her hair is swept behind her ear, held in place with a sparkling hair comb; the other side of her hair is loose, falling softly around her face. The hairstyle perfectly mimics her asymmetrical dress, one shoulder bare, the other covered with a rich velvet blue, the deepest shade of blue he's ever seen, making her eyes appear even bluer. The neckline shows only a hint of cleavage, but it is the way the dress clings to her and falls off her body which makes his eyes open and his breathing stop. The first thought he has is that the dress is the classiest one he's ever seen. Fit for a goddess, indeed. That is, until he sees the slit in the front.

The slit that he knows he really should not be staring at so overtly and for so long. But he finds it impossible to do otherwise. Cut just a bit on the diagonal, it travels all the way up. And then up further still stopping only at the last possible moment, the v of her legs. And when she takes another step towards him, he wonders how in God's name will she be able to actually sit. Or dance. Or even walk and not start a riot. Or not get arrested, maybe. So consumed is he with that last thought that he forgets to speak. And when he finally lifts his eyes from that slit, he sees her standing there with tears in her eyes.

"Ruth," he says, coming closer, "What is it?" And then, instantly, he understands, " Oh, God. You're...exquisite. Beautiful. Yes. Really so beautiful that I..."

She bites her lip. " Really? Do you mean that? Or is it too…much?"

He almost touches her, but not quite. "Oh, yes," he says softly, "Very much. Beautiful." He moves in even closer, now just inches from her. "So very right. So very beautiful."

"Are you sure? I mean..."

His eyes go back to the slit, but he remembers to look up at her this time. "You're magnificent. But then again, I'm not surprised."

"But it's alright?"

"More than that. Perfect. Just like you."

"Really?"

"Ruth." He says, "I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick. And it will be," he adds, moving in as close as he dares, "my pleasure."

"Harry." She says. But she's smiling now with no hint of tears.

"I mean it," he says. "No one could do justice to that dress. Except you."

She shakes her head. "I wasn't quite sure that I ..."

"Come, "he says, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. And he leads her to the mirror, standing behind her. "Look. _Look."_

Their eyes meet in the mirror. And then he says to her image. "Remember this. How you look tonight. How beautiful you are." He runs his hand down her bare shoulder. Then up again, finally resting on the hollow of her neck. "So very beautiful." He feels her trembling under his touch. Turning her to him, he slowly draws nearer. Her eyes close and he kisses her. Gently. Delicately. She kisses him back, her arms going around him; the kiss deepens. He pulls away first. "Ruth," he says, breathing heavily, "I think…"

"Oh," she says softly, "Now you have lipstick on you." She runs her fingers over his lips. His eyes never leave hers as she continues to rub the lipstick off. She takes a tremulous breath. "We ...really should go." She begins to turn, but he stays her with one hand.

"I would rather stay here with you." And there is no mistaking his meaning.

"Yes." She says. "I feel the same."

"Do you, Ruth?" He asks. "Do you?"

She nods, her eyes locked on his. "I do." She says. When he moves in closer to her, she says, "But we really need to go."

He sighs. "Yes, I know, But then," he adds, a gleam in his eyes, "We can return all the sooner." He looks at her then. And waits.

She takes another tremulous breath. "Yes." She says simply. "Yes."

He gazes at her intently for a moment before turning from her, one hand brushing her shoulder. Picking up his tie off of the bed, he says, "Now I need to..."

"Here." She says. "Let me." Instantly, she is at his side next to the bed. As she begins to tie it for him, his eyes lock upon hers, now focused on her task. He breathes in the perfume she is wearing, just a hint perhaps behind her ears, he thinks.

She gives the tie a final tug. "There." She says. "Not bad at all."

He glances down at it. "Perfect. Like you." And begins to lean in towards her again.

"Harry," she says, shaking her head just a bit. "We really do need to go."

He nods, sighing. "Yes. I know. Blast it all. But you can't blame me for trying, can you?"

"No," she says, smiling, showing her dimples. Then she steps back and looks him over. "Did I tell you how handsome you look?"

He flaps his hand at her.

"I mean it. You're quite handsome, you know. Dashing. And you smell good, too."

His smile broadens. "Well. In that case, if you come a little closer, you can..."

She turns from him. "My purse and my wrap."

He watches her backside as she goes to her side of the room. Aphrodite vanishes, quickly replaced by Pomona, the goddess of abundance along with her derriere. Rounded, Full. _Yes. Abundant._

When she returns a few moments later, matching wrap around her shoulders and sparkly bag in her hand, he's still smiling.

"Ready?" she says.

He nods wordlessly. And going over to the bed, slips his jacket on.

"Yes. You'll do." She says, her dimples flashing again. "Quite nicely."

He gives a little bow at her words. Then going over to the door, he opens it for her. As she passes through, he gets a lovely view again of the dress clinging to her shapely derriere. _ Quite nice. Indeed_.


	14. Chapter 14

Last chapter; epilogue included :) **Please heed caution near end of chapter in bold ***MATURE CONTENT *****

14-

The ride down in the lift to the Grand Ballroom is interesting, to say the least. Harry, ever the gentleman, allows her to enter first, of course. Doing so also affords him another lovely view of her equally lovely derriere. After she steps in, and he gets a good view, he follows and stands next to her, putting his arm around her waist. She moves in next to him. When the lift stops at the next floor, he drops his arm, but not before sliding his hand down just a bit. Despite the blush on her checks, Ruth keeps a perfectly straight face as the next person steps in. When the doors close, all reflect proper lift etiquette. All smile. But not too much. And all keep an equally appropriate distance from one another as well.

The lift chimes again, and with a nod to their fellow rider, Ruth and Harry head for the Grand Ballroom. On the way, they pass other formally dressed guests, presumably also headed towards the gala.

As they enter the Grand Ballroom, they look above just like everyone else at first. Great chandeliers hang from the ceilings. Gleaming marble arches surround the immense room as well. Golden trays filled with with drinks and hors d'oeuvres are held aloft by the servers, dressed in black and white uniforms. In the dining room, the crystal and sliver sparkle; crisp linen, white and dark green for the season, cover the many round tables. The band, off to one end of the hall, also gleams, brass instruments reflecting the shimmering light of the chandeliers from above.

The band plays on, welcoming all. And although many guests are already there, many continue to stream in. Clearly, given the crowd from both sides of the pond, the servers, the food and drinks, the Across the Pond Gala or Spooks' Ball as affectionately called by Her Majesty's Secret Service, is no meager affair.

Harry finally takes his eyes off of Ruth but only to see others' reaction of her. He smiles as heads turn at the lovely woman in dark blue, one shoulder exposed and wearing a dress slit up the front as far as common decency will allow. Some of those who recognize Ruth do a double-take. Others simply stare with frank admiration. But no one ignores her.

Harry takes note of every look that passes her way. "See? He says to her. "What did I say?" There is no response. He turns a bit and sees that she is no longer standing right next to him. Rather she is a little off to the side and behind him. He turns to her. She moves in a bit closer to him but does not look at him; instead she gazes above at the marble arches. "It's amazing. The architecture."

"Ruth." He says as quietly as possible but loud enough for her to hear him over the din. "You look wonderful. "

She looks at him then. And nods. But she pulls her wrap around her a bit more.

He leans over to her and whispers in her ear. "Just take a look around. Those are looks of admiration. And you know why?" He replies before waiting for an answer. "Because you're most beautiful woman here." Briefly, he touches her arm. She smiles at him, then and stands just a bit taller.

He's about to add something when a tall, slender man in his mid 40's or so, his hair perfectly coiffured and a shade too light for his age, approaches them. His perfect smile matches his perfect hair. And perfect unseasonal tan, too. "Harry Pearce!" He says, loud enough for those standing nearby to hear. "How in the hell are... And who's THIS?"

"Hello Tom." Harry says, shaking the other man's extended hand. "This is Ruth Evershed. My guest and brilliant desk analyst. Ruth," Harry says. "Tom Leitner. "

_"This_ is Mrs. Cousins?" Leitner says, drawing near her.

"Um," Ruth says, smiling a bit. "About that. Actually..."

"Ruth. Ruth Evershed." He says, rolling her name around his tongue. "The name sounds familiar."

"Yes." She nods. "We actually met years ago when 6 was collaborating with the CIA; it was when the group for -"

His eyes open. "I thought your name was familiar." He stares at her, his eyes dropping down to the slit and all the way up again before actually looking at her again. " But what did you do to yourself?"

"I...um..."

"So, Tom." Harry says. "Anything to drink on this side of the pond?"

"Oh, anything. And everything," he replies. But his eyes remain on Ruth, or rather the slit in her dress. "We spared no expense to entertain our cousins, you know."

"Is that the Mayor?" Harry asks, looking a bit over the crowd, now thicker than ever. "Must be," he adds noncommittally. "I see the press over there. Is that a TV crew?"

Leitner jerks his gaze from Ruth's dress and in the direction where Harry is looking. "Really?" He cranes his neck, squinting a bit. Turning back to Harry a second, he says. "Well...I think ...if it is... I really must... You must excuse me."

"By all means." Harry says. When Tom leaves, Harry smiles slyly. "That was easy."

Ruth slowly shakes her head. "Harry."

"Didn't even have to use a stick." He smiles again.

* * *

A little later, champagne glass in hand, she says to him, " I can't wait to hear your speech." She takes a delicate sip, but to the relief of each of them, has no trouble at all.

"Ruth," he says and smiles, "You _know_ what I can't wait for."

She colors but leans towards him. "And I as well."

He gulps the rest of his drink down a little too fast. But he doesn't choke. Just sort of coughs a bit.

"Problem?" She says. And smiles innocently.

"You know," he says, "You're really quite a tease. Aren't you?"

She sips her drink and then shrugs. "We shall see about that. Later. Won't we?"

"I just want you to know that I _will_ get you back for that. Later. Upstairs. "

"Is that a threat, Harry?" she almost purrs. "Or a promise?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes riveted on her. As a server passes by, Harry reaches above towards a golden tray and grabs another glass of champagne, drinking most of down almost immediately.

"Careful." She says, "I do want you upright." And she smiles just as innocently before. "All of you, you understand."

He leans in, speaking sotto voce. "Ask and you shall receive." Taking a glance nearby, he slides his hand down her buttocks as well.

"Harry."

"Sorry. Won't happen again." He takes a sip. " Here." he adds. Then takes a last sip of his drink. "But I do need to touch you. Now." At her look of consternation, he says, glancing at the band. ""Care to dance, Miss Evershed?

She smiles, then. "I would love to."

He beams. Leading her onto the dance floor, he takes her hand in his, placing the other on the small of her back. They begin to dance almost sedately. Others soon join in. When the dance floor becomes crowded leaving little space between couples, he pulls her into him, a smile on his face. Her eyes open.

"Sorry," he says, his expression belying his words. "But what do you expect looking the way you do tonight?"

"Harry." She whispers in his ear. "I'd expect no less. From you, that is." And she leans into him as well.

He breathes in her ear. "You think others will notice if we leave?" His hand slips just a bit lower.

"We can't leave." She says, shaking her head a bit at him and his straying hand. "We just got here. And you have to give a speech, you know."

"Bugger the speech. And the Home Office. And the bloody ball. And the…."

She pulls him into her even more. "I think, Sir Harry," she says, with a bit too much delight on her face, "It's going to be a very long evening. Quite long, in fact."

"Oh, God." He says into her ear. "And I thought I knew all about torture." He presses into her some more. She holds onto him just a bit tighter.

* * *

Later, much later, after his well-received speech, she finally goes back to get her wrap at their table. Harry's eyes as usual are on her the whole time. Turning to leave she says, her dimples flashing, "Ready?"

"Ruth." He says a serious look on his face. "Have you forgotten something?"

She stares at his expression.

He smiles then. And holds out her purse. "You act like you're in a hurry. Or something." He says.

She laughs, taking her bag. "And you say I'm a tease."

"Serves you right," he says, still smiling. "After the torture you put me through all evening."

She simply shrugs, but her eyes sparkle.

"What say you," he says, "We get the hell out of here?"

* * *

*****WARNING: The following subject matter is rated MATURE for ADULTS only: IF not appropriate for you, please heed warning and skip to EPILOGUE.**

They begin to walk side by side, but a moment later she looks behind her. He is two feet behind. Again. Watching her.

She shakes her head." Coming, Harry?" She says.

"Oh, make no mistake about that. He says catching up with her. "We shall. Indeed we shall."

The ride in the lift up to their room is quite interesting by anyone's standards. As soon as they enter the empty lift, he pushes her into the back wall and begins to kiss her. "Harry," she manages to murmur against his lips. "What if someone..."

He shrugs. But when the lift chimes, he pulls away. The door opens but there is no one there. The door slides shut. And as soon as it does, he leans into her, this time practically flattening her against the back wall. "Feel that?" He asks.

"Harry," she says, "Not only can I feel that, I think that the people on the next floor can as well."

He laughs and is still laughing when the door opens. He continues to laugh until they are standing in front of their door. Both have trouble opening it. Harry drops the card. Ruth picks it up. She tries to insert in the slot but fails. "Give me that." He says, taking it. "Man's work. Inserting things. Into other things..."

The door opens.

As ever, the bed looms in front them. Stepping into the room, Harry all but kicks the door closed. Quite unnecessarily, too. Then he reaches behind and double locks it. He removes her wrap, his eyes on her the entire time; her eyes now as dark as her dress. The room is silent expect for their breathing.

She nods. And reaches for him.

That is all he needs. In moments, his hands are up her slit and beyond. Seconds later, her dress is unzipped. And when he pulls it halfway down, her breasts are revealed, delighting him. He stares a moment before actually reaching up and touching them. But only for a second. He all but pushes her onto the bed and none too gently, either. But then again, there is nothing gentle about her touch as well. She yanks his shirt out of his trousers, his tie soon following. And in seconds, she undoes his trouser button. Unzips him as well. And finds exactly what she wants. He groans. But it doesn't stop his exploration of her. Reaching underneath, he all but rips her knickers off. When she begins to pull her dress off, he says, "Leave it," using a voice she has never heard but has only dreamed about.

He kicks his trousers and boxers off expertly, still kissing every inch of her, even as she continues to stroke him. Finally, finally, his hand finds her and she begins to moan. He continues to stroke her, but stops now and then. "Just getting you back," he says. For the whole evening." Her moans turn into cries of pleasure. After a while, he climbs on top of her, his knees between the slit of the dress. And when he finds her other slit, she begins to cry out in earnest. And when the expected happens, both clutch at one another, calling out the other's name. Over and over.

Spent, they soon pull apart, he gasping for air. She breathing heavily. His breathing slows. "I love you." He gasps. "I have for a long time."

"I know, "she says, still smiling, "I love you, too."

"Then what took us so long?"

"I don't know. Doesn't matter. Does it?"

He doesn't answer. Just holds her to him even tighter.

And holding onto each other for dear life, they sleep.

**-END of Mature post-

* * *

**

_Epilogue:_

"Housekeeping!"

"Oh, God," Ruth says, picking her head up from Harry's chest. As the doorknob begins to jiggle, she whispers. "Harry! Do something!"

"It's ok," he says, rubbing his now unshaven face into her cheek, "She can't get in. Double locked. Remember?"

"Housekeeping!"

"Yes, but…. "

He nips at her ear before getting up. When he walks over to the door, stark naked, it is Ruth this time who gets a perfect view of his derriere. She smiles, especially when he opens the door just a bit, hiding behind it for decency's sake. "Would you please come back later?" He says politely.

"Ok." Replies the chambermaid, the same one as the other day.

The door closes. But as she leaves, she hears giggling and a man's laughter.

She reaches for the little sign hanging on the doorknob. Flipping it, she hangs it back up.

DO NOT DISTURB.

Smiling, she goes on her way...

-the end-

* * *

**HAPPY HOLIDAYS! **I wish you and yours a healthy and happy New Year!.

Thanks for reading/feedback! And see you next year! :)


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